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“I do, and I also have chains if needed.” He shot her a mocking glance from beneath dense black lashes. “Nervous?”
“No,” she lied, crossing her legs.
“You’re wringing your hands.”
She unknotted her hands and smoothed her heather-gray skirt, then made a conscious decision to at least fake appearing relaxed, even if she didn’t feel it on the inside.
Marcu wouldn’t be
around much longer. He’d be leaving for his holiday with Vittoria soon. It would just be her and the children by the end of the week, and she’d be fine with the kids. Even if they were little beasts, she’d be fine. She could manage just about anything...except her reaction to Marcu it seemed.
“I’m sorry we’re arriving so late,” he said. “It’s a beautiful drive in daylight.”
She turned her head to look out the window, the soaring peaks of the Alps hidden now by darkness. “I would imagine you have good views from your castello?”
“Breathtaking,” he agreed.
And that was the end of their conversation until they reached the Aosta Valley, where Marcu’s castello sat just outside the village of Aosta. She’d been many places in her life, but she’d never been to the Italian Alps and she was looking forward to exploring someplace new. Hopefully the children would have a sense of adventure, too.
“Here,” Marcu said abruptly as they left the highway to turn off the main road, passing through huge iron gates and stone walls into a groomed winter wonderland. The road cut through the middle of an ancient park filled with soaring trees frosted with snow and just when Monet was certain they’d be driving through woods forever, the trees cleared and before them rose a castle. It could be called nothing else with its stone-and-stucco facade, and soaring towers and turrets.
“This isn’t a new construction,” she said under her breath.
His lips curved faintly. “It was built at the end of the twelfth century.”
“So I’m sure it’s warm and cozy inside.”
“Fortunately, Galeta’s family updated the heating. We don’t just rely on drafty fireplaces. And should you be cold at night, there are small space heaters you can plug in as well.”
Marcu slowed as they traveled up a narrow cobbled road and then parked in front of the entrance to the castello. Staff appeared on the front steps. Men in dark gray suits claimed the luggage while a woman in an austere black dress nodded her head as Marcu ushered Monet through the front door. “Welcome back, Signor Uberto,” the woman said.
“Thank you,” Marcu answered. “Are the children still up?”
“No, signor, they are already in bed and asleep. The housemaid, Elise, took them for a walk to help them burn off their energy earlier and they were ready for bed tonight.”
Monet heard the wryness in the housekeeper’s voice and glanced from the housekeeper to Marcu to see how he’d interpret her words, but Marcu’s stern features revealed nothing.
“Were they difficult to manage without Miss Sheldon?” he asked.
“Not at all, sir. Elise enjoys spending time with them.”
“Tell her I’m grateful for her help,” Marcu instructed, tugging off his leather gloves and then his coat.
“She knows, signor. Do not worry.”
The butler was there to take Marcu’s coat, and then he turned to Monet, ready to collect hers, but she smiled and shook her head. “I’d like to keep mine, if I could,” she said.
“Of course.” Marcu glanced up the stairwell to the floors above. “I’ll give you a quick tour now and then tomorrow you can have a proper look around.”
“That’s all right,” Monet said quickly. “I don’t need a tour tonight. It’s been a long day and I’m happy to just call it a night. But I do look forward to meeting the children in the morning.”
“Your suite of rooms is next to the nursery on the third floor,” Marcu answered. “I’ll walk you there.”
They climbed three flights of stairs before Marcu opened the door on the third floor to a sitting room with a dark beamed ceiling.
The walls were a creamy plaster over stone. The pale stone floors were covered with plush Persian rugs, and a rich burgundy velvet couch faced the fireplace, with a pair of peach brocade upholstered chairs on either side. There were small tables scattered about, one round table topped with hand-painted burgundy-and-gold tiles, while another had a hammered silver tray that reminded her of a table they’d once had in Morocco. A Venetian glass mirror hung on one of the smooth plaster walls while an antique peach, green and gold tapestry hung on another.
“The children are next door,” Marcu said. “Their nursery and bedrooms take up the rest of the floor. They have a playroom, and two bedrooms. Matteo and Antonio share a room, and Rocca has her own. Miss Sheldon used to sleep in the nursery in Palermo to be near them, but once Antonio turned three, we moved the boys in together and now Miss Sheldon has a bedroom adjacent to the nursery like here.”
“If they have a bad dream, what do they do?”
“They know you’re here, next door.”
“They don’t come to you?”
“You are closer. I’m on a floor below and the stairs are steep.”
“I see,” she said, careful to keep the judgment from her voice as she crossed the living-room carpet to peek through the open door to the bedroom. The apricot-and-burgundy color scheme was repeated. The bed was a four-poster with apricot fabric panels. Wooden shutters were at the windows but heavy curtains framed the shutters, adding an extra layer of protection against the frigid night temperature.
Marcu gestured to a large wardrobe in the corner. “You’ll find a mini kitchen outfitted in the wardrobe with a coffeemaker, teakettle, and a small refrigerator. I believe housekeeping has stocked it with milk and some fruit and snacks. I know we had dinner on the plane, but if you’re hungry for something more substantial—”
“I’m not,” she said, cutting him off. “But thank you. I think I’ll have a cup of tea and call it a night. I imagine the children will wake early and be ready to go.”
“Elise will look after them until you’re settled.”
“I’m settled now,” she said firmly.
“I’ll send for you once they are up and dressed and fed. There is an intercom button inside the wardrobe, and another on the wall near your bedroom light switch. You can call the butler at any time—we have a night attendant available—and request food, drink, or anything else you might need.”
“The children have one in their room, too?”
“Yes. But they don’t use it. Normally they get Miss Sheldon and then she handles their requests.”
A light knock sounded at the bedroom door. Marcu crossed to open her door. A castle steward was on the doorstep with Monet’s luggage and silently entered the room, carrying her suitcase and smaller bag into the bedroom.
Marcu looked at her. “Any other questions?”
“No.” She suddenly felt exhausted and disoriented. What was she doing here? “I’ll wait for you to send for me tomorrow.”
* * *
It took Marcu hours to fall asleep. He was too keyed up, too restless to switch his thoughts off so he could sleep.
Now that Monet was here he could focus on his trip with Vittoria. He’d already looked at rings in Milan and his assistant at the Palermo office had booked the top floor of the resort Altapura for him and Vittoria, as well as making several reservations at the best restaurants. Vittoria was far more extroverted than Galeta had been and she enjoyed the social scene. It was one of the reasons he was taking her to the Alps. She loved showing off her prowess on the slopes during the day, and she enjoyed dressing up at night. Christmas for her was about parties and people, and he was trying to muster enthusiasm for a holiday that sounded dreadful.
He didn’t want to be away from the children. He didn’t want to be in some damn hotel. And he didn’t want to propose over Christmas—he hated this time of year—but Vittoria had made it clear that she wanted a commitment from him, and she wanted it by the New Year.
Vittoria wasn’t the perfect solution to his wife problem, but she came from a well-respected family, an old, powerful, wealthy Sicilian family, and she was beautiful and outgoing, which he thought would be good for the children. Proposing to Vittoria wasn’t an impulsive decision. They’d been seeing ea
ch other for the past year and she’d handled herself well when she’d been with his children. Of course the children were a little standoffish because they didn’t yet know her, but they would grow to care for her, and Vittoria would care for them. With time, everything would fall into place.
The hard part was done. Details had been organized, and everything problematic was sorted. It hadn’t been easy, but Monet was here now and she’d take care of things for the next few weeks while he was gone. The children would be fine. Vittoria would accept his proposal. There was no reason to worry.
And yet, sleep still eluded him.
All because Monet was here, just one floor above his.
CHAPTER FOUR
MONET WAS AWAKE long before her breakfast tray was delivered to her room along with a folded card.
The children and I will meet you in the music room at nine. The music room is one floor down, and the second door on the left. Marcu
She’d already had two cups of tea and a biscotti when the breakfast tray of yogurt, juice, and warm fragrant rolls arrived. She’d thought she was hungry until she read the note and then her stomach did nervous flips.
She wasn’t ready to see Marcu again. To be honest, she found him rather terrifying. There was no boy left in his handsome face, and no softness in his personality. The loss of his wife had hardened him and made him intimidating and ruthless.
Years ago she would have said he’d be an amazing father but now he struck her as impossibly cold. She hoped he wasn’t truly that cold with his children.
